


slip off your skin and leave it in the tide for gulls to plunder

by EyeScreamQueen



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Gender Dysphoria, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied abusive parenting, Other, Trans Amethyst, Volleypearl - Freeform, alcohol mention, non-binary Pearl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27022600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyeScreamQueen/pseuds/EyeScreamQueen
Summary: Pearl doesn’t look forward to going home for vacation.
Relationships: Pearl & Pink Diamond’s Original Pearl | Volleyball
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	slip off your skin and leave it in the tide for gulls to plunder

Pearl sighs as they eye the dress laid out on their pristine bed.

God. As if the idea of dinner with their family wasn’t already uncomfortable enough, their mother had said how _pleased_ she would be if Pearl wore the outfit she’d set out. The statement was delivered in the familiar tone Pearl recognizes as an order, not a suggestion - but despite knowing they have no real choice, they’ve been dawdling over it for close to half an hour. It won’t be long before somebody comes calling for them, wondering what the delay is. 

It’s a lovely dress, finely made and definitely expensive - a high-necked, cap-sleeved affair of white broderie anglaise, cut to the knee. Modest. Appropriate. Pearl’s mouth twists into a thin, bitter line as they glance at the clock and slowly begin to undress. 

They’re fortunate to have somewhere to go during break. As their mother is fond of reminding them, they should be more grateful. But nonetheless, they’ve felt as though their brain is vibrating within their skull since the minute they got on the bus back home for spring break. They’d had offers of rescue - Volley had practically begged, and Pearl had caught the disappointment flickering across her rosy cheeks when they declined; guilt smarting like a nettle sting. But Volley understood. She always seemed to understand, so reassuring and patient. Pearl had promised to text as often as they could. 

Which sadly, isn’t often at all. Cellphones are frowned upon during ‘family time’. They’d been caught texting in the car on the drive home from the bus stop, the rebuke lancing sharp and sudden through their happiness; a death knell to the liberty they enjoy during the semester. No phones at the dinner table, Pearl understood, but then their time was swallowed by chores, formal calls, ballet practice, Mass... the list went on and on, and their mother’s keen eye deterred them from risking a quick message under the table.

Church was the worst. Their fingers itched to text Volley - or Amethyst or Garnet - every minute they sat stupefied with boredom in the pew, face a blank mask of outward meekness over inward contempt. The closest they’d come to prayer recently in that awful, drafty place was vaguely hoping for the pulpit to collapse; midway through an especially dogmatic preachment on sin. They could’ve sworn they’d felt the pastor’s eyes on them for a good half of the sermon, and wondered what he thought he knew about them.

It wasn’t just at church they’d been scrutinized. Predictably, their mother had examined them like a specimen once they arrived at home: a thorough perlustration as the questions rained down like a hail of arrows. How many hours a day were theypracticing? How much were they studying? How much had they been eating? What was their ranking? They had been attending church weekly, hadn’t they? They hadn’t given in to temptation or _debased_ themselves like those other students?

(Fragments of memory bloomed in their mind like bubbles as they blinked to keep their eyes from glazing over: stumbling 2am journeys back to Volley’s dorm. Breathless beer-laced laughter ringing in the dark. The studs of their leather jacket scraping cool against the arm slung protectively around Volley’s shoulders. Sitting spreadeagled on the floor, eating nachos with their hands. Volley's flushed cheeks, the cadence of her giggle, her wide eyes, her pink lips. The two of them, colliding like two asteroids, hands scrabbling, panting open-mouthed; falling into an urgent tangle of limbs on the bed - ) 

As skilled at the act as they are with a foil, Pearl had arranged their face into a polite, neutral expression and lied through their teeth.

They’d been sensible enough to leave the jacket at home - along with the jeans, cropped vests and check shirts they’d amassed during weekend visits to the thrift stores. The leather alone would’ve caused carnage. 

They’d experimented where it was safe. At their barre, they’d checked nobody was watching before tentatively testing out the attitudes and posture usually assigned to male dancers. The positions and poise were mostly the same, but nonetheless their chest had lightened as they watched themselves in the mirror: something about the line of their shoulders seeming to settle more comfortably, their toned arms looking stronger and less delicate - though logically they knew their body had not changed one whit. But the creeping feeling of discomfort which had been malingering all through the morning had finally shifted, easy as a _glissade_ , shading through vulnerability to a new sensation of power until -

“What on Earth are you doing?” Their mother’s laugh, cold and insincere, tinkled like ice in a glass as she appeared in the doorway. Never any guarantee of privacy, not even behind a closed door. “I hope that isn’t how you dance at school. Really, you look just like a man! Let’s see you do it nicely, now.”

Pearl had gritted their teeth around a tight, terse apology that they didn’t mean; and gone begrudgingly back to their pique turns. 

They aren’t a man. They know that much. But there are days when the word ‘woman’ fits wrong against their skin like a too-tight sweater, jars their brain like a discordant note. They hadn’t had the vocabulary for it beforehand - they knew they were gay, surely that explained everything? - but, several states away and without the constant eggshell-treading anxiety of their mother’s looming presence, they’d been able to do some digging in the privacy of their dorm room.  
  
  


There are so many words. Not just new ones, either, but language reshaped and reworked, the trappings of syntax smoothed out and parted to make room for infinite manners of being. Pearl had marveled at the ways people found to express themselves, the myriad glorious ways to _live_ \- and more than anything, the support people showed to one another, a united front of community against narrowed eyes and narrower minds. 

At home, the Internet was closely monitored, schoolwork only, browsing tracked and cellphone inspected routinely. Now, they could safely stay up until the crack of dawn, reading, learning, _thinking:_ so they did, scrolling feverishly, eager to understand more. They’d immersed themselves in it hungrily, feeling as though something in their head was slowly cracking open - a new world unveiling itself, steady and bright as a sunrise.  


Garnet had been an asset, guiding them through, patiently explaining any areas where Pearl’s brain hit a stumbling block. Amethyst, once she understood the source of Pearl’s curiosity, was equally eager to help. And Volley was just a sweetheart, adaptive and earnest, effortlessly tweaking her language to whatever fit best for Pearl that day without so much as blinking. They are _so_ grateful for all of them.

At college, Pearl is free. There, Pearl had somehow summoned the courage to write “she/they” under their name badge at student mixers. There, Pearl has Volley and the others to bolster them when their confidence buckles, cushioning them from any quizzical looks with their irrepressible support, their enthusiasm, their love.

Here, Pearl is alone; and approximately one utterance of the word ‘ladylike’ away from tearing their hair out. Nothing is off limits: the way they sit, the way they speak, they way they sip their tea. Somehow, they are too much and yet still lacking. The constant need for vigilance is exhausting - not too loud, not too fast, no speaking out of turn, no improper language, no blasphemy. The previous day, they'd forgotten themselves, and crossed their legs at the knee rather than daintily at the ankle. The resulting lecture still rings faintly in their ears.  


The rules go on forever, and it seems unconscionable to them that until six months prior, they followed every one to the letter. Now, their old docility sits as wrong as their dresses - they certainly weren't happy beforehand, but now they’ve had a taste of acceptance, the loss of it burns their insides like acid. It takes so much energy to keep their guard up, and if they slip, they know there’ll be hell to pay. If it wasn’t for the others, sending words of encouragement from across the leagues, they’re certain they'd go insane.

Their hands feel a size too big for their body as they unbutton the back of the dress. They can only hope it isn’t another garment bought deliberately too-small (“oh, darling, look at the state of you! We’ll have to watch your portion sizes”) or too-large (“well, you’d gained so much weight I had to guess at the size - though I’m sure it won’t be too big for very long!”).  


  
  
As they slip it on, it seems to fit just fine. Pearl can’t decide whether they’re happy about this or not as they stare dully at the mirror, taking in the snug fit of their hips and chest under the fabric.

Some days, this form is fine. Some days Pearl even likes it, confident enough to lean into femininity - on those days, ‘she’ doesn’t tug their mind like a snagged thread. Other days, though, it feels like they’ve been dismantled and put back together all wrong; as if their body is an outline on a page, while their self is a muddle of scrawls, spilling outside the lines. 

They don’t want to do anything permanent about it, necessarily - not the way Amethyst has. Nothing medical. But it’s impossible to ignore the fact that every day is a coin-flip as to whether “sorry, miss” will chafe raw as a skinned knee, or whether a “right, girls” called across the studio will set something in their chest to wilting.

They turn this way and that before the mirror, listless. They’re pale from anxiety and sleeplessness - though granted, their late nights are mostly on account of texting Volley under the covers, pouring out the stress of their day. Makeup might help - somehow, makeup never sends them spiraling - but their numb hands instead fumble for their cell. They hitch their face into a wry, raised-eyebrow grimace and snap a photo in the mirror. 

_ Ready for another adventure in gender conformity.  💀 _

They’ve finished their eye makeup and begun efforts to brighten the wan geometry of their cheeks with highlighter and blush, when the the reply chirps a herald to its arrival. When they read Volley’s response, the coral powder on the dresser becomes unnecessary.

_ 🏐: PEARL _

_ 🏐: you look so handsome! _

They smile despite themselves as they reply.

_ You really like it? _

_ 🏐: yes your Majesty  _

_ 🏐: wait: you or the dress? _

_ 🏐: the dress is fine but you are exquisite _

_ 🏐: as amethyst would say - SLAY _

_ 🏐: not literally, oh my goodness _

_ 🏐: I know you’re great with a sword but  _

_ 🏐: no murder, please _

Pearl chuckles, setting aside their phone to dig under their bed for shoes, a frustrated sigh wrung out of them when all they find are Mary Janes and ballet flats. Some boots would sharpen the look. Something solid and chunky. And what they wouldn’t give for their gel right now. 

God, they miss their leather jacket. And Volley. And Volley wearing their leather jacket.

Another chirrup from their cell as an impatient shout echoes up the stairs. Their cheeks warm anew as they read the newest message.

_ 🏐: (no murder until I’m there to help you hide the body, at least) _

“Almost ready,” Pearl shouts back, distractedly, glancing back at their phone as their thumb skates across the keypad. 

_ You’re wonderful. I love you.  _

They barely remember as they hit ‘send’ to switch their phone to silent - they’d gotten careless during winter break. An unexpected call from Amethyst had gotten their cell confiscated for the remainder of vacation. By the time they'd managed to sneak the wireless password, Garnet had been about ready to send out an Amber Alert.

The dress has no pockets. _Dammit_. They’ll have to take a purse, much to their chagrin. Grabbing the nearest one down from the hook on their door, they reflect that this will at least make it easier for them to smuggle their phone to the restaurant bathroom. An emergency vent text will help them keep their cool, should the barbed comments escalate after Mother’s third glass of Sauvignon Blanc, if Pearl begins to feel the hot dangerous impulse to backtalk, or scream, or flip the table. 

Another glance in the mirror. _Handsome._ They don’t see it - they never can, especially not when they’ve been dressed by their mother for an evening's enforced play-acting. But they jut their jaw, tense their pectorals, feeling a faint glimmer of pride at the firmness of each bicep visible below the tickling lace. Yes. Still them, under the subterfuge.

“Pearl!”

“I’m coming!” 

_Exquisite_. And maybe another day the dress will feel right. It feels more probable with Volley onside, tender and teasing, brimming over with sweet little validations - but tonight, they face the onslaught alone. 

Pearl swallows, galvanizing themselves, imagining their whole body clad in armor to shield them from whatever sneers might be leveled at them tonight. Resignedly, they fix on a hollow smile and make toward the door.

Their phone buzzes and they pause, fumbling the light off one-handed. The soft glow of their screen illuminates the curve of their lips as a real smile softens their anxious features. 

_ 🏐: I love you too. Best Pearlfriend ever. You got this. x _

Pearl sighs wistfully, repeating Volley’s words in their mind like a cantrip, as they stow their phone and head down to reckon with fate.

**Author's Note:**

> This goes out to every LGBTQIA+ person who’s ever had to pull the Good Cishet Child act when they’re home for the holidays after being out at college - with an extra serving of ‘your identity is valid and you matter very much’ to everyone who’s currently hiding facets of themselves for lockdown.
> 
> (what d’you mean, I’m fine, it’s fine, this is fine, we’re fine - )


End file.
